


Fevers Run High

by LadyKailitha



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Just Friends, Sherlock Whump, Sickfic, Stubborn Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-27
Updated: 2013-11-27
Packaged: 2018-01-02 20:19:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1061182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyKailitha/pseuds/LadyKailitha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock is sick and being stubborn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fevers Run High

"Sherlock!" I cried. I ran through the streets calling his name. I had gotten a strange text and it had sent me running out the door. Two words that I never that I would have ever thought he could utter much less type. "Help. Me." I grabbed my gun and my coat and the netbook I had used to find him before. Sherlock wasn't aware that I had setup his phone so that I could track him in these situations or maybe he did and just didn't care.   
  
Once I got his general location I heralded a taxi and off we went. Told the driver where to go as my heart began beat loudly. Hurry I kept muttering to myself over and over. I leapt from the taxi and paid the man a hefty sum and began my mad dash through the streets. I was close, I could feel it.   
  
There he stood the wind billowing around him, blowing his hair and coat. He looked like the hero from an old movie. "Sherlock!" He turned to face me, his usually pale face flushed. The wind blew his hair in front of his pale eyes. He took a step my direction and uttered the most heart-wrenching words.  
  
"You came," and just like that his eyes rolled back into his head and he collapsed. I rushed over to him and managed to grab him in time. Slowly he sunk to his knees, my  hands clutching his shoulders tightly, trying to keep up. I set him down and his legs splayed out in front of him.   
  
"Sherlock!" I held him in the crook my right arm and checked for a pulse. It raced beneath my fingers and where I touched felt hot to my skin. I put my hand on the back of his neck and cursed. It was hot too. I shook Sherlock calling, his name. His eyes fluttered open and his blue eyes could barely focus on my face.   
  
"You need to get a hospital, Sherlock!" I told my shattered friend.   
  
"Please…" he begged. He never begged. "Not a hospital…." he trailed off and I shook him again but this time he didn't wake. I knew that I would follow his wishes. I couldn't bear to see him so distressed, I just hoped that once this was over he'd tell me why hospitals were out of the question. I called a cab and waited.   
   
"Come on Sherlock… stay with me." I whispered, rocking back and forth, tears streaming down my face. When the taxi arrived and I struggled to lift Sherlock off the ground, the driver gave me a questioning glance.   
  
"Too much to drink. Gotta take the poor sod home." The cabbie just nodded. He'd seen it all the time and took us to Baker St. John and I felt a surge of relief. I wasn't sure if there had been a bar or pub around there for it to be believed.  
  
I kept one arm around him as I texted Mrs. Hudson. I would need her help getting him up to his room. All the way home I kept looking down at the curls on top of his head, a knot of worry in the pit of my stomach. He never slept in cab rides. He either talked to me or texted someone else. He didn't like to sit still for anything. As we pulled up Mrs. Hudson hurried out with her purse. She paid the cab as I pulled Sherlock out of the taxi.   
  
The cabbie leaned out the window, "You sure he's just drunk? He doesn't look so good."   
  
I pulled Sherlock to the door and turned back to the cabbie. "Trust me. I'm a Doctor." The cabbie must have been a fan too because he smiled and drove off. I looked down at the lumbering idiot in my arms and frowned. I was going to need help. And I knew just who to call.   
  
Once we got Sherlock settled in his room, I nicked his phone and went scrolling through his contacts. Finally finding the right one, I hit dial.   
  
"Sherlock? Wow, you never call. Um… usually you text me. And only when you want something--" I could tell that if I didn't cut her off she would have gone for awhile yet.  
  
"Molly…" I cut in.   
  
"Wait, this isn't Sherlock. Who is this? What are you doing with Sherlock's phone? How could you be so cruel?"  
  
"Molly, it's John." There was silence on the other line of a moment or two.   
  
"What's he done now?" I never knew how she could do that but she always seemed so intuitive when it came to my flatmate.   
  
"I wish I knew." I sighed. I hated being in the dark. I had no idea what case he was working on or where he'd been. "But he has a high fever, flushed. His pulse was going so fast that I thought it was burst from his veins and he's unconscious. I haven't been able to wake in the last half hour."   
  
"What do you need me to do John?" She hadn't asked why he wasn't in the hospital but I felt I had to explain.  
  
"He won't let me take him to hospital. Not even yours." Again there was silence on the other end, finally she spoke.  
  
"I'll bring over some supplies. I wouldn't trust anything in that kitchen." I laughed. I didn't doubt that he had described his experiments to her.   
  
"Thanks and could you bring a syringe and vial? I would like to have a blood test or two done to make sure it was dangerous or contagious."   
  
"Of course." Again another silence. "And John?"  
  
"Hmmm..?" My mind was already wandering back to my patient.   
  
"Take care of him, yeah?"   
  
"I will, see you soon." I hung up and turned toward my best friend. He lay there on the bed his breath had become shallow and sweat beaded on his forehead. I shook my head. _Why didn't I see he was getting this sick?_ I thought as I went up to my room and got some clean towels and a bowl I had rescued from Sherlock's experiments and filled it with cold water. It was so cold you could see the condensation form on the outside.   
  
I dipped the towel in the liquid and after a good wring out I placed it on his forehead. Grabbing the other towel I dipped the tip in the water and began to dab his face and neck. I had changed the towel twice before I heard the bell ring.   
  
I rushed to the door, hopping it was Molly. But outside stood a tall man with piercing blue eyes. As my eyes adjusted to the gloom I could tell it was Mycroft.   
  
"Sod off. He doesn't need this now." And I moved to close the door but he stuck his umbrella in to jam it. I looked down at it in disgust.  
  
"John…" his tone was threatening. I looked up and met his eyes. I glared at him a moment before finally giving in and opening the door all the way.   
  
"What has my dear little brother got himself into this time?" I didn't bother answering him and just led the way to Sherlock's bedroom. I opened the door and indicated to the unconscious form of my flatmate.  
  
"Oh dear." He said as he strolled into the room deliberately.  
  
"Yeah so can you please leave?" I pleaded. "He can't help anyone right now. So if it's pressing call Lestrade. Otherwise tell whoever it is Sherlock will be back on his feet next week." He pressed his hand to his brother's cheek. I was a little surprised at the caring touch.  
  
"Alright John." He stood and walked past me. "I understand." He walked to the door and then he turned back. "Take care of him John." His voice was soft. For some reason that touched off a nerve.   
  
"Why does everyone assume I can't? First Molly, then you." I crossed my arms and huffed. "I was doctor first. Before I was a soldier. Before I was Sherlock's flatmate. I am perfectly capable of taking care of him."  
  
A small sad smile wrinkled the elder Holmes' face. "It's not that, my dear man." I scoffed, clearly not believing him. "We know you can take care of him. By asking you to take care of him, we are placing our trust that you will make sure he pulls through this."   
  
I nodded not trusting my voice just then. Everyone was placing such a trust in me, I only hoped that I would live up to their expectations. He slipped out the door and was gone. There wasn't even a sound made when he closed the door.   
  
I went to go change the towel on Sherlock's brow but as I reached out to grab it the bell rang again. I quickly changed the towel and then went dashing down there. I flung open the door and again it wasn't who I was expecting.   
  
"Greg, whatever it was that you had him doing has him so sick, that he is burning up and unconscious, so if he didn't text you the result before he passed out you are shit up a creek." I crossed my arms in front of my chest and glared at Sherlock's policeman.   
  
"Shite! How the hell did that happen?" Lestrade ran his fingers through his hair in frustration.   
  
"You saw him this morning, I didn't. How did he look?"  
  
At least he had the decency to look sheepish. "Well, you know Sherlock… when isn't he pale and peakish?" I rolled my eyes. He did have a point however.   
  
"Right. I'm guessing you showed up to toss his place looking for the evidence you need?" He looked behind him and there was his crew, waiting. I stepped out to the night and faced them down.  
  
"Sod off. He's not deliberately withholding information this time. He's sick and even if you don't trust Sherlock, trust me as a physician. He's not going anywhere. And if any of you lot try, you'll find out how good of a soldier I was."   
  
Lestrade look uncomfortable but he waved them off, "Right you lot, let's go."  
  
He turned to me, "Call me when he wakes. Despite all my complaining, I do worry about him." I nodded and moved to enter the flat when I saw Molly pull up in a cab.  
  
She looked around at the dispersing police force and cocked her head to the side. "So what's all this then?"  
  
"A misunderstanding." I told her as I took the bag of supplies while she paid the taxi.   
  
"All righty then, let's get you setup to take care of the worst patient in the world." I cracked a small smile.   
  
I had cleared off the kitchen table so she could unpack what she brought. She had everything I could have wanted and then some.   
  
"How did you manage all this?" I asked amazed. She blushed and muttered something under her breath that I couldn't catch. I just shook my head. Maybe it was better I didn't know.   
  
I took the stuff I need to draw the blood and went into Sherlock's room. I was grateful when she didn't follow me. I think she didn't want to see the Great Sherlock Holmes laid low. It would destroy the image she had built up.   
  
When I walked in he moaned in his sleep and tossed a bit. Concern rippled across my features as I made my way to his side. I place my hand on his cheek.   
  
"Shhh… Sherlock I'm here." And he settled back to sleep and I sighed with relief. I rolled up his sleeve and frowned at the track marks that were still visible. I wrapped the elastic tourniquet around his upper arm and tapped the vein to make it pop. I stuck in the needle and tube that went to the first vial. She had brought two just in case.   
  
He didn't even flinch. My brow grew more furrowed, and I quickly changed vials and capped this first. I was very good at this. Once both were filled and capped, I pulled out the needle and unwrapped the tourniquet.   
  
She flashed me a pained smile when I came back out. As I handed her the vials she took them and put them in the little cooler she brought.  
  
"You know sometimes I forget you're a doctor, John." She wouldn't meet my eyes, she kept looking at her hands.   
  
"It seems like everyone is a bit like that, except Lestrade and Sherlock because they rely on my expertise a bit more often." I said as I watched her put the cooler back in her bag.   
  
"Is that because you're with Sherlock?" she muttered. "I don't mean with with Sherlock. I mean…" she trailed off. "I mean is it because Sherlock is so brilliant?" I stared at her and she flushed. "Oh sorry. That was a bit rude."  
  
"No. It's fine. I should at least admit it to myself that's why…" I trailed off. I didn't like talking about it.   
  
"That's fine. I mean… it's fine that you don't want to talk about it." She gathered up her things and made for the door.  
  
"As soon as I get the results from this I'll let you know." I nodded and followed her to the door.   
  
"Why doesn't he like hospitals?" she asked as she hailed a cab.   
  
"I don't know. He knows everything about me but I know nothing about him. He prefers it that way I think. He doesn't like people getting close." She nodded and hopped into her taxi.   
  
"He'll be fine. I'm sure of it. Just promise me one thing John. Don't tell him I helped." The look on her face book no argument.   
  
I watched her drive off and suddenly I heard a crash. I ran up the stairs to find Sherlock struggling to open his bedroom door.   
  
"Sherlock!" I called. He looked up at me and promptly fainted. I got him back on the bed and briefly thought to tie him down. But a memory passed through my minds eye. Sherlock calming under my touch and the sound of my voice.   
  
In his fevered mind he probably thought I wasn't coming back and… nah! I broke off that thought. But it lingered anyway. I knew that for the next couple days I would be sleeping in a chair in his room.   
  
The next couple days were hell. Molly called once to let me know that it wasn't contagious or deadly. Lestrade called twice merely to ask how Sherlock was. Completely ignoring the case that was so pressing that morning. I even asked him about it and he just waved me off. The case wasn't as important as Sherlock. I smiled then.   
  
I was at my limit on third day. His fever hadn't broke and I was starting to feel like I should have taken him to the hospital. I was sleeping fitfully. Every sound he made, every toss and turn, would have me up and uttering soothing noises.   
  
Finally that night when I feel asleep after a long fit he'd had, I heard a raspy voice call my name. I rubbed my eyes and moved to sit next to him on the bed. I felt his head and checked his pulse. Both were normal. I sighed in relief.   
  
"I'm here Sherlock." Those long eyelashes fluttered open.   
  
"I dreamt you left me…" his voice was raw with disuse and the fever. It pained me to hear that melodious voice of his so torn up.   
  
"Never Sherlock. I'm here for the long haul." He nodded and slipped into a restful sleep and that night I took to my own bed, secure in the knowledge that he would make it through the night.   
  
I woke up before he did and made tea and broth. He greeted the tea with enthusiasm, the other not so much. But under the glare of his physician he drank every last drop.   
  
"You want to tell me what happened?" Sherlock just shook his head. I sighed. He didn't like talking about his failures and this was definitely a failure.   
  
"How are you feeling?" He was so pale.   
  
"Like I've been run over." I laughed and he offered me a weak smile.   
  
"Did I really promise to tell you why don't like hospitals in exchange for you not taking me to one?"   
  
"Yes," I lied and he cursed and laid his head back on the pillows.   
  
After a long moment he sat back up.   
  
He looked at me. "I'm not very good at this." He looked utterly defeated.   
  
"It's okay Sherlock. Whatever it is I won't laugh at you or tease you about it, if it's something silly. And if it's something serious, you know that I would never tell anyone. Besides who would I tell? Harry?" I laughed mirthlessly. "Lestrade? The only one I might tell is Mrs. Hudson and I won't if you don't want me to." He stared at me for a long moment, almost as if he was trying to deduce if I was lying. Sighing he laid his head against the wall and rolled his eyes upward.   
  
After several minutes he spoke, his eyes still skyward. "My mother had cancer when I was nine or ten. She spent so much time in the hospital but she always seemed to get worse when she was there. It was only when she was home did she look like she was getting better. One day after a particularly vicious fight with Mycroft, I ran off and when I came home, she had hanged herself."  
  
"Oh god. Hence the argument you had with Mycroft after the cabbie incident… you blamed him for starting the fight and he blamed you for running off. And the truth is that it was neither your fault."  
  
He glared at me. "Sherlock, you said she cancer. She was probably terminal. She wanted to go on her terms. The fight probably had nothing to do with your mother's death."   
  
He turned away and I thought I saw a single tear slip down his face.   
  
"What happened to your dad?" Sherlock didn't talk about him at all.   
  
"He's the reason Mycroft and I believe that caring is not an advantage." He must have been a real ass but I was proven wrong with the next sentence he uttered.   
  
"When Mycroft and I graduated from college and as his damn note said, 'now that you can take care of yourselves' he put a bullet in his head."   
  
"Oh god. Both parents taking their lives… I don't know how you are as sane as you are…" Sherlock snorted. He looked at me with level eyes and I knew he was going to ask.  
  
"So what happened to your parents, John? I know they aren't alive or you would have went to them for help when you came back." I hung my head.   
  
"A car crash, a week after my deployment." Sherlock closed his eyes.   
  
"What a pair we make…" he commented dryly. And then he looked at the phone in my hand.   
  
"Who did you just text?" He asked frowning.   
  
"Lestrade, Mycroft and…" I trailed off I promised her that I wouldn't involve her.   
  
"Mrs. Hudson." I finished lamely. He knew I was lying but he wasn't strong enough to protest.   
  
"Right. So why did you text them, then?"  
  
I smiled. "They were worried about you and asked that they were informed the moment you were awake."   
  
"And you of course obliged," he did the half hearted smile he uses when he finds something disdainful.   
  
I returned with one of my own.   
  
"How long do you intend to keep me here?" I smiled a true warm smile.   
  
"As soon as you can actually stand on your own." He whipped off the blankets and moved to stand and promptly sat back down again.   
  
"Not today, then." I smirked.   
  
"Um… John… I foresee a problem…" I shook my head.   
  
"It's not a problem Sherlock, I did all the time as service doctor."  
  
"You know if I didn't know you any better, I'd say you were just using this as an excuse to see me naked."  
  
I laughed. "Like seeing your skinny ass could turn me on." I countered and he laughed.  It was a real laugh and I was glad he was feeling well enough to laugh.  
  
"Help me up John, I'd kill for a bath." I helped to the bathroom and got him a change of clothes as he managed to strip himself. I filled the bath and placed him gently in it.   
  
"Call me when you need to get out." I took the opportunity to get a shower and was toweling off my hair when I heard Sherlock call my name.   
  
I walked into his bathroom and laughed at the comical sight before me. He had tried to get out of the tub himself and had only managed to tangle himself in the shower curtain.  
  
I raised my eyebrows in askance.   
  
"Don't just stand there, I need your help." I shook my head and moved to help him chuckling.   
  
"Yes, John, very funny. Just help me." I untangled him and set him on the toilet seat so that he could dry off.   
  
"Whether you want to believe it or not you will need my help over the next couple days until you get your strength back." Sherlock rolled his eyes.  
  
"I'd have to do things for myself if you weren't here you know," Sherlock huffed. He was acting childish again.   
  
"If I hadn't been here you would have been a minor footnote in the obituaries, 'Consulting Detective and brother to Mycroft Holmes (who holds a minor position in the British government) was found dead in his flat today. His landlady found him after smelling something rotting for a couple days.'" I crossed my arms and leaned against the doorframe. His pale blue eyes meeting my dark blue ones.   
  
"Right, fine, help me get dressed." I  moved helped him dress and got him back into bed.   
  
It was a long couple of days with Sherlock trying to push the boundaries of his endurance and failing miserably.   
  
But at the end of it all, I think Sherlock understood something about himself that he didn't before. He learned that no matter what I would never really leave. Despite the things he threw at me, the curses he spat at me and the insults he sneered at me.   
  
When he was finally able to walk out that door without help from me, he did utter two words, I never thought I'd hear him say.   
  
"Thank you."


End file.
